While the rain continues its slow downfall
While the wind erases
Small pieces of history
In the old walls
But not the certitudes, not the odorous petals
Of the sights,
While nothing stays and everything remains
There’s a dead calm in the next ocean
And irrelevant green in the mountains.
In the proud woods of New Hampshire
A love –or maybe two– sighs
Between squirrels and old glories
And everything is like before and time is new,
The flowery orange trees on the Xúquer bank,
The mellow wheat in the Ukranian meadows,
The different tonalities of the memory river
And its meanderings.
Love is not difficult, or maybe it is
Nor it is difficult to hold
Early morning rain pearls
Like eyes suddenly out of orbit
Like words without salt and without sound;
Remembering is not difficult,
But love is often blind and doesn’t remember
It’s dumb and deaf and it doesn’t see
And for that reason it takes refuge
Between pines and mint
And it meditates sharply about life
While the rain continues its slow downfall.